A drabble with Darcy’s thoughts, fueled by fine eyes, running amok at Rosings during his Easter visit. For Jamie, because she bribed me with Ghirardelli and asked for it!

Darcy’s Easter Musings

What is she doing here?

I have spent months attempting to vanquish her from my thoughts. I have hoped, prayed that absenting myself from her bewitching presence would quell the ache I feel, knowing that I can never offer for her. Instead, I have spent these months in misery; loathe to be in any company that wasn’t hers. Why have I damned myself so?

I think she would laugh if only she knew what torture I endured. What was it I read recently? Oh yes, “Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire.†” There is your poetry Elizabeth. If I had any doubt before that my passion was great, I doubt no more.

Aunt Catherine will not be silent and it grows ever more difficult finding ways to ignore her. I wonder if I might speak to the gardener about improving the view from this window. I suppose not, I imagine my aunt would mistake my interest in the grounds for interests in the management of Rosings. That, I could not allow. There is no need to hasten my aunt’s disappointment just yet. She will be disabused of her queer notions soon enough.

That fool is speaking again. I had thought that Miss Lucas had been a sensible sort of girl, perhaps I was mistaken. Then again, her own father was so obsequious that I suppose Mr. Collins’ brand of simpering is nothing new to the poor woman. At least Elizabeth is here for her now. There must be comfort in the visit of her dear friend. As vexing as her presence here is, at least I am comforted to know she is well.

What am I going to do?

I cannot very well offer for her. Could I? No. It would be laughable. My family is ancient and noble, hers is ridiculous and vulgar. I suppose I will just have to endure catching glimpses of her around the park and be satisfied with that alone.

What is Fitzwilliam saying to her? They are speaking of me. She is looking at me again. Please look elsewhere Elizabeth! Whenever your fine eyes are upon me, I feel my blood begin to boil and I feel sure my cause to forget you becomes even more hopeless.

Thank heavens that Fitzwilliam has to be cautious about where he weds! I know my Elizabeth must marry, but I could not bear to call her cousin when I long to call her mine. That blasted cad had better not play on her good graces or… Or what? What could I do? I have no rights here. Maybe it would be better if she were to marry Richard. Then at least I would know she was well-cared for.

How blessed will be the man who does win her hand? To be loved by Elizabeth, to have her be mistress of both heart and hearth, would be worth everything.

I will follow my heart.

I want to be that man. Oh, what sweet relief to know that soon my suffering will be over and she will be my wife!

 † François de La Rochefoucauld quote from Reflections; or Sentences and Moral Maxims.  François VI, duc de La Rochefoucauld, le Prince de Marcillac (1613-09-15 – 1680-03-17) was a noted French author of maxims and memoirs, as well as an example of the accomplished 17th-century nobleman.